Holidays with Steve and Tony
by calebaren
Summary: Tony and Steve have some pretty interesting holiday traditions and non-traditions . Rating change hopefully... kinkvengers xD and established Steve/Tony.


**A/N: Let's just all wish for holidays... suggestions in reviews, any typos? Really tired when I wrote this, so they're bound to be some...**

* * *

"Clint?"

"Mhm?"

"What should I get Steve for his birthday?"

Clint scoffed.

"You can get him anything in the world. I don't know, try something you haven't done before."

"So like, bondage?"

"You're disgusting."

"Hey, get back here," Tony shouted as he threw a pillow at Clint's retreating head.

"Just get him a motorcycle or something patriotically colored, I don't know," he called, slamming the door behind him as he went into the bathroom.

"Get him something that no one else can give him," Natasha yelled from the kitchen.

"A helicopter?"

She peeked her head around the corner, chocolate everywhere on her body. Tony cringed at the sight and she grinned, mouth amazingly chocolate-free.

"Think of something big, yet intimate. And public. Steve likes public."

"Steve hates public."

She shook her head, chocolate flying everywhere.

"Men," she muttered, and retreated back into her kitchen/web.

"You guys are no fun."

* * *

"Hey, Coulson, my man, wanna go out for coffee?"

"No time, Stark."

"You never have time," he whined into thin air.

"I do have time, it's just you never want to spend it with me. After all, I'm the guy who threatened to tie you to a ceiling fan and laugh while you spin around and around and make you clean up the mess you throw up afterwards."

"Well I forgive you. I think. So can we get coffee?"

"No."

"But _Agent_," he whined again.

"What do you want, Stark?"

"It's Steve. I have no idea what to give him for his birthday."

"What do you want to give him?"

"A robot."

"That's what you want him to give to you."

"Yeah, a win-win. He gets a robot, I get a robot, everyone's happy."

"No, Steve doesn't want a robot. Try using that big ol' head of yours and be 'creative.'"

"I'm not creative outside of the bedroom," he whined yet again. He liked to whine, it made him more of a rich immature man-child than just a regular immature man-child.

"Not interested in that, Stark."

"Well, what do you suggest? Throw 'Happy 4th' cakes at him until he orgasms?"

Coulson groaned into the phone.

"I'm going to ignore that. Think… Independence Day. Roger's birthday is July 4th, do something with that."

Tony felt the beginnings of some epic idea stir in his hindbrain. He muttered through a goodbye before Coulson had the time to react.

* * *

"Hand me the electron screw. No, no, the quad-nano one. Thanks," Tony mumbled as he slid back under the suspended chest plate. It didn't look bulky, but that thing weighed almost two hundred pounds. It pinched him a little too tightly when he fired an Archimedes pulse. Looking into it, he found that the circuitry connecting his arc reactor to the firing mechanism had partially melted, and after almost an entire afternoon of whining and complaining about the unfairness of life, had resigned to sulking under his chest plate and rewiring the entire suit. Might as well, anyway. Banner fiddled with a part of Tony's gauntlet. Banner tinkered with the repulsor, as Tony complained about the massive recoil whenever it fired. Bruce for one had tried it, and found that it took all he had not to Hulk out right then and there because of the high risk of dislocating his shoulder.

"Geez, how do you even manage to not break all of your bones when you use this thing?"

"I drink all my milk every day and I even ate those little gummies! Aren't you proud of me, Banner, taking care of my body and everything?"

"Stark, your sarcasm dazzles me."

"I dazzle you, how nice. Would you be dazzled by my massive—"

"That's enough, Stark."

"You're no fun."

The workshop once again filled with the comfortable sounds of miniscule drills and solderers and the slight _swish, swish_ of Dummy sweeping the floors and absolutely no human interaction whatsoever. Which Tony picked up on and immediately wanted to make Banner talk, so he shattered the peace and calm and blurted out loudly, "What should I get Steve?"

Banner flinched at the sudden noise. He hated loud and obnoxious voices, and the other guy did, too, even if that loud and obnoxious voice belongs to Tony Stark, richest and smartest and most sarcastic and vulnerable and secretly one of the nicest people in the world.

"What, for his birthday?"

"No, for his high school graduation."

He groped for a response, thought of nothing, and instead plucked a random idea from his massive 'Things to say when Tony Stark asks you a question that you can't answer without taking your mind off the current task which could threaten your or the other guy's safety' file.

"Do something with Iron Man. It's spectacular, and I'm sure he can do some pretty impressive things," he replied, aloof and offhand.

"Are you saying bringing my baby here to _bed_?"

He raised an eyebrow, questioning Tony's logical process.

"How did you even get there? What I meant is that you should put on a show, I don't know, um, something that will impress Steve but not in a show-y, look-how-amazing-I-am kind of way, but a I-will-do-anything-to-show-you-I-care kind of way."

Tony chewed on his cheek for a moment, letting the solder drip off the seam in the chest plate and onto the floor, a mere centimeter from his head.

"I don't think I'm that deep in with him yet," he spoke softly, hoping Banner would ignore it. But he picked it up, as clear as day.

"I know you are. You just don't really have a way to show it without completely exposing yourself."

Tony shied away from the dripping solder, which he just noticed, and turned towards Banner, still on his back and on a trolley.

"Do I really have to do this? To move forward with him?"

Banner shrugged.

"That's up to you, because you two certainly aren't moving much of anywhere right now. It's all quick and fast sex and nothing more, really. You two should talk, or you should show Steve something other than your… _penis_ and massive hot-rod collection."

"They're one and the same," Tony sniggered, which he promptly tried to stifle when he thought he saw Banner's eyes flash green. Or maybe he just learned to use that to intimidate people.

"Just open up to him, Tony. Do the one thing you couldn't do with Pepper. _Stop getting him expensive gifts_. He just wants something from _you_, not from Chinook or Armani or the South of France.

"I'll think about it, pea-brain."

"You're a jerk, Tony."

And the lab settled back into the quiet sounds of genii.

* * *

"What is up, my fellow homie," Thor bellowed from across the gym. Tony just walked in, a water bottle in hand, fully expecting it to be devoid of all human contact.

"What are you doing here," he asked, question coming out a bit more harsh than he intended, soliciting a frown from Thor. Tony tried to amend it quickly, adding, "Not that I don't want you here, I just thought that you were in Asgard?"

Thor's face lit up again, like a Christmas tree, just more… Pagan.

"I have vacation days!"

"Oh, okay, that's new," Tony replied, unsure of how to proceed while standing awkwardly. He set down his water bottle and laid down on the bench, lifting the barbell off the rack, just as Thor's face popped into his field of vision, leading him to drop the huge weight onto his chest, narrowly missing the arc reactor. He swore he could _hear_ his lung deflating and a few ribs crack suspiciously.

"_Can't—help—breathe—lift—_"

Thor, seeing his friend's predicament, immediately shoved the barbell onto the floor with a resounding _thud_.

"I am truly sorry, Tony Stark, if there is any way I can—"

"I'm fine, I'm fine, no harm no foul, okay?"

Tony smiled and coughed a few times to get the remaining parts of his lung out of his esophagus, then made sure that nothing broke. Just a bruised rib, judging by the tender feel of that area and the massive stab of pain that coursed through his left side. He'd get Banner to check that out later. "Hey, actually, there is something that you can help me with, I need an outside perspective anyway. Do you know what I should get Steve? For his birthday I mean?"

Thor clapped his hands happily, joy essentially dripping from his pores.

"Oh, oh, I enjoy these Midgardian customs that Jane told me about! Shall we have another drinking spar?"

Oh, God, not _that _again.

"Uh, I'm cool, thanks for the… _offer?_ I don't think Steve would enjoy that much alcohol again."

"I do not believe he was as inebriated as you and I were last time, Tony Stark!"

Tony chuckled, coughed at the pain set on, and then gasped at the pain _that _set on, and then just decided that he didn't want to talk in the first place.

"Haha, yeah. Any ideas?"

Thor chewed on his lip for a good thirty seconds, chin resting on his knuckle, the very image of The Thinker. Though a few times bigger and a lot more hyper.

"Steve Rogers is a simple, yet complicated man. He doesn't simply allow for himself to be bought by simple gifts… I believe that he will appreciate a… gift that you create yourself."

The epiphany a long time in the making suddenly blossomed into existence, filling all of Tony with a warm feeling, as his brain made the final connection, and he skipped out of the gym (or tried to, before his bruised rib reminded him that he needed health insurance) and down the stairs to his lab.

* * *

"Have you guys seen Tony," Steve inquired as he entered the living room. The other Avengers all sat around the TV, throwing popcorn into their mouths and cowering as they watched the poor ingénue before them offered as a twisted form of satanic sacrifice. Steve cringed at the scene on the television. "How long have you guys been watching movies?"

"Fourteen hours," Clint responded, deadpan voice and glazed eyes a testimony of that.

"Workshop, I think," Banner offered.

"Has he been down there for," Steve paused as he counted back to the last time he saw Tony. "Three days?"

"Mhm," said Clint.

"Dammit, Tony."

"What, he hasn't been in bed?"

"I thought he was on a business trip! He left a note saying he was working on something and would be gone for a few days!"

"If he left a note, then why are you looking for him? And since when does Tony 'work'? Thus Pepper."

"Because it's been three days and he hasn't called!"

Steve fumed and clenched his fists as Clint cast a lazy eye in his direction.

"Go look downstairs if you're that scared. 'S not like he hasn't done it before."

"For three days, though?"

"Record was… what, a week and a half?"

"Yeah," Bruce confirmed.

Steve walked (more or less stomped like a petulant man-child—Tony was a bad influence) away from the living room and down the stairs.

* * *

Tony cast a glance at the cameras monitoring the stairwell. 2:36 AM, the clock read. He saw Steve coming down, ran some variables through his head, and calculated that he had about two minutes before Steve would arrive. Cursing softly, Tony swiped away the schematics for his project and cast everything into a box, stashing it away under one of his worktables, slipping under the chest plate again and pretending to actually work. Steve knocked on the door and Tony heard the slight hiss of the glass unlocking. His face appeared upside down, blocking out the light and casting his features in silhouette.

"You've been in here a bit too long."

"I'm fine, Cap."

"No you're not."

"Do I look fine to you? Okay that came out wrong. Do I look not-fine to you?"

"No, you don't."

"Great, so let me work."

"Tony, have you even slept in the past few days?"

"Yeah," he responded, quickly sliding out and shuffling over to the cot, where he bounced up and down on it. "Look, it's all springy and stuff, I slept in it. See? See?"

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes, arms folded across his chest. God, he was so much like Pepper.

"Coffee is not sleep, Tony. Come on, let's go."

Tony, the mature billionaire that he was, sprang over to his chest plate, which he clung onto and actually _hissed_. Steve sighed again and pried a writhing genius off his armor, carrying him upstairs and into the bedroom. The others just continued watching their TV, already used to scenes like this.

A gasp escaped Tony's lips as Steve threw him on the bed, who frowned at Tony's reaction.

"Is something wrong?"

"I think… Thor dropped something heavy on me and… it hurts to move… too much."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, do you need Banner or anything?"

"No, no, I already got it checked out, ugh…"

Tony's head fell back into his soft comforter. No wait, _Steve's _soft comforter. So yeah, his soft comforter. He smiled. "Coming Cap? Or do I have to revert back to my horny teenager phase all over again?"

Steve silently stripped Tony out of most of his clothes, leaving him just in his undergarments. He protested against Steve, but he just smiled and lay at least six inches away from him.

"Sleep, Tony. You get eight hours, that's all I'm asking for, and I'll do whatever your reptilian brain asks for, okay?"

"M'kay, Cap, whatever you want," Tony mumbled as he dug his face into Captain America's delicious shoulder, inhaling the intoxicating scent of Steve Rogers, the final bits of Steve's birthday present running through his mind until at last he drifted off into sleep.

* * *

He awoke to find Steve still next to him, breathing softly. The clock read 10:37. Huh, funny the way the human mind works. Tony slipped quietly out of bed and gathered up his clothes from last night and cracked open the door. He padded back into his room, and changed into his comfortable clothes. Which was like 80% of his wardrobe.

Tony tiptoed past Steve's room and headed downstairs, mulling over the finalized ideas from last night. The box sat forlornly, right where he left it, and he dragged it out into the open, arranging the little balls back into order.

"JARVIS, could I see a simulation?"

"If I may ask, sir, where do you plan to fire these?"

"Would you think I'm crazy if I said the suit?"

"I believe I have spent too much time around you to consider anything you do crazy."

"I love you JARVIS."

"Noted, Master Stark."

Tony smiled at his robot/construct thing/mind/brain/overseer/butler.

"I'll fire them from my suit, but can you adjust the trajectory mid-air?"

"The microprocessor and propulsion system of each should allow me adequate control over the trajectory of the shells, but the individual explosions are up to you, Master Stark."

"Thanks."

Tony rummaged around the workshop for spare parts to use in the final orb, and, collecting his materials, assembled the firework. Fireworks of this scale had never been attempted before, but it was just a lot like programming; find something that will trigger another, but not everything all at the same time. The unpredictability of traditional fireworks was high, but they weren't Stark-made.

He screwed on the final plate, and held up his creations. Thirteen orbs, each slightly larger than the previous when put in order, ranging from the size of a golf ball to slightly smaller than a basketball. Tony carried them over to the Iron Man armor, where JARVIS retracted a plate to allow for storage where missiles usually went.

"Tony?"

"Ah!"

He screamed as he whirled around, surprised at an intruder. Banner stood, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

"Why are you up so early?"

"It's almost noon."

"It's still early," he complained.

"Working on something."

"What?"

"I haven't been cheating on you, Banner, stop going through my texts!"

"I'm not—anyway, what are you loading into the suit?"

Tony sighed.

"Keep a secret, okay?"

"What is it?"

"Um, I'm setting off fireworks for Steve's birthday."

He cringed, waiting for Banner to start laughing or to scoff or to gasp in horror and back away slowly, repeating "you're dead to me" over and over again.

Instead, Banner nodded, a look of approval on his face.

"That's actually… not bad, coming from you."

"I'm hurt, Banner. I thought we were best friends."

"I thought I was the jealous housewife with the exotic and unfaithful husband."

"That too. We were high school sweetheart, sweetheart."

"Huh, no wonder I hate you."

"Ouch."

* * *

The next part was the set-up. Tony already had the soundtrack down, but it was just a soundtrack… he actually wanted this to be up close and personal. So he rifled through Steve's music collection and selected a few of his most played tracks. Strangely enough, Boléro was his most played out of all of them, by Maurice Ravel and one of Tony's favorite composers. But not a very good fireworks piece. Tony shoved it to the back of his mind, wanting to incorporate it by not quite finding a way to make it click. Tony picked out a high energy rock song that he absolutely hated (it was too quiet) but Steve listened to virtually non-stop, a weeping ballad by Celine Dion (which was regretfully one of Steve's favorite songs) and finally, Sousa's Stars and Stripes Forever. And he called the band, Celine Dion, and NYPO to perform.

The landing pad below the balcony on the 71st floor jutted out from the side of the building, so Tony had the robots set up the stage where the helicopters (and he) would usually land. So hopefully no one needed the Quinjet today. Dummy had predictably thrown fourteen chairs over the side of the building on accident, which was okay to Tony, but probably not to the screaming woman that one had almost hit. Come on, they were chairs made out of a material as dense as Styrofoam.

Banner helped keep Steve out of the house on various press meetings and "birthday parties", though he knew they were just attempts to get in Captain America's pants. But he was already taken. Tony smiled slightly at the thought of Steve belonging to him, and him only.

"JARVIS, I want maximum 'viewability' towards… let's say… the north face of the Stark Tower. And most of Manhattan."

"Sir, there is text in the pyrotechnics."

"I think you know where I want the text to be best visible from."

"Very well, sir; programming your flight plan into Extremis. Upload at 4%. And may I suggest that you take Dummy off deck?"

"Good man. Brain. Whatever you are."

* * *

The rest of the day passed quickly, with the bands and orchestras and instruments brought in, and Celine Dion flown from Montréal. When sunset finally rolled around, Tony was waiting out on the balcony, heart pounding as Steve exited the elevator. He raised his eyebrow at Tony standing along outside, and stood in front of him, snaking his arm around the smaller man's waist.

"Something's wrong, what's wrong, did I miss something? Did you buy a goldfish? Tony, I told you—"

"No, I didn't get you a goldfish. I didn't really get you much of anything… but I did kind of make you something…"

Steve's eyes lit up, the '40s innocence not lost to him.

"Shall we?"

"By all means."

Tony led Steve to the edge of the balcony, and backed up, armor forming around him. He signaled to the band to start playing, which they did, matching the preset tempo perfectly. Tony took a deep breath, even though human error on his part was next to nothing. He felt a sudden urge to take off as Extremis manipulated his limbs, the first shell soaring over Manhattan. One, two, three… twenty different smaller shells broke off from the first, each detonating at just the right time and into a thousand different shards of light, as never seen before. He could see the glistening fire in Steve's eyes as he flew past, repulsors leaving a longer trail than usual and weaving through the frenetic display of pyrotechnics and human ingenuity. These weren't just fireworks. They were visual interpretations of Tony's heart.

He ticked his head slightly to the music streaming into his helmet, hoping that the band wouldn't speed up. They didn't, they were professionals. The second and third shell blasted off at the same time, spiraling together in a fluid and hauntingly beautiful dance, before splitting off in opposite directions and igniting, a silent explosion of fire and muted color. He had tried to get the color as grey as possible, though that was nigh impossible.

The band transitioned seamlessly into accompaniment for Celine Dion, as Steve looked down, startled by her appearance. She smiled up at him while she sang, speakers blasting out her voice across Manhattan. Tony gritted his teeth as he entered the most difficult of his maneuvers, though Extremis would of course pull it off seamlessly. His armor arched as he entered a hammerhead turn, before suddenly corkscrewing to the side as the fourth, fifth and sixth shells all fired in rapid succession, careening far off into the distance before a muted explosions, a display of classic gunpowder usage. Though about, forty times larger than any firework ever seen. Guinness would probably be knocking by tomorrow morning. The shells had flown out over two miles at Mach 3, the sonic boom echoing back, a surprisingly soft explosion following shortly afterwards. Tony didn't want to have to pay for hearing aids for half of New York, so he toned down the noise level a bit. The seventh and eighth shells leapt out from the missile compartment, streaking straight towards Steve, who looked like a deer in headlights. They raced towards him with deadly accuracy, a testament to Tony's prowess in heat-seeking missiles. A few hundred yards from Steve's face, close enough for him to feel the cold light of the shells, they split into dazzling daggers of light that spiraled around the Stark Tower, leaving trails that were impossibly long and whistling loudly, an eerie melody that weaved in with the final chords of Celine Dion's ballad. Steve stopped trying to form distinct expressions a while ago, just leaving his jaw slack and mouth open in awe.

The loud and brash entrance of Sousa interrupted him from his reverie, and back to Tony as hidden spotlights painted him bright red and blue. Shells nine through eleven featured the classical exhibition, development, and finale of a fireworks show, and tied in nicely with Sousa's masterpiece, culminating in one final weeping willow that was almost three miles wide and hung in the air for ages, courtesy of shell number twelve. And one last surprise.

The final shell burst out of the missile bay, and Tony felt a bruising pain travel down his side as the recoil shoved into his rib. The marching rhythm of Boléro poured over Steve, inadvertently drawing tears from both him and Tony. The hauntingly simple melody danced lithely through the air, the thirteenth shell ducking and weaving with Tony as they waltzed, coming within a few feet of each other. A graceful dance with death. He cropped out most of the fifteen minute song, leaving just two minutes for Steve to enjoy. The beginning, a part from the middle, and the finale, a sweeping crescendo that ended abruptly with a dissonant cord and quick blasts of the brass section. Number thirteen careened away from Tony, and a few hundred yards away and exploded, ending the fireworks/Stark Industries explosives clearnace show with a message for Steve: 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAPTAIN AMERICA!'  
Tony landed on the balcony with a thunk, helmet sliding up. He leaned up and pecked Steve on the cheek.

"Happy birthday, Cap."

Steve hugged Tony and dug his face into Tony's hair, inhaling the faint scent of coffee and linen.

"Thanks, Tony."


End file.
